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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27704801">John 14:3</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philyra912/pseuds/Philyra912'>Philyra912</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coda, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, First Kiss, Fix-It, Getting Together, Heaven, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:17:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,683</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27704801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philyra912/pseuds/Philyra912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there you may be also.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>John 14:3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean wasn’t sure how long he stood there in the silence and sunset with his brother. He also wasn’t sure how much time had passed for Sam, just like he wasn’t sure how long he’d spent driving over vaguely familiar roads, like and unlike places he might have seen in his dreams. Time, the way he remembered it from before, was already something that only registered as an intellectual concept, now - time, fear, pain, the endless need to struggle. What Dean had felt, driving through a perfect world, had not been loss or the passage of time; it had been benign absence, and the long, static sensation of waiting, like holding his breath. This place had been a Swiss watch, beautiful and perfectly balanced, but missing a gear; when Sam had arrived, Dean had felt it slot into place somewhere deep in his chest. The world began ticking, and he could breathe. </p><p>Eventually, Dean patted his brother on the back, glanced up into Sammy’s familiar face, and headed back to the car. Sam followed him as he’d always followed him, without words and utterly in sync, like the tide to the moon. When Baby’s engine turned over and began to purr beneath them, Dean felt a smile tug at his lips. He smiled so much, here. </p><p>The wind slipped through their hair, smelling like clover and the remembered warmth of summer, and for a while they drove in contented silence. Eventually, Dean glanced over at his brother.</p><p>“So, how was it?”</p><p>“How was what?” </p><p>“The rest of your life, dude.”</p><p>Dean was looking at the road, but he felt Sam’s smile all the way from the passenger seat. </p><p>“It was good,” Sam replied around a sigh. “Sometimes it was hard, and sometimes it was boring, but mostly it was so good, Dean. A good, real life.”</p><p>Dean felt a sensation in his chest like cresting a hill at 85 miles an hour, like everything inside him was suddenly light in a way that made him realize how heavy it had been before without him even noticing the weight.</p><p>“A real life,” Dean echoed. “That’s . . . I’m glad, Sammy.”</p><p>“It would have been better with you in it,” Sam said quietly. “I missed you. So much.”</p><p>“Wasn’t in cards,” Dean said easily. It felt like a statement that would have hurt, in the time before, like words wrapped in barbed wire that tore and clung on their way out, but now it just felt like the truth. “I knew what I choosing, Sam, when we decided to keep hunting. Blaze of glory. Things worked out the way they were supposed to. But missing people . . . that part’s over.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Sam agreed quietly. He cleared his throat. “So, where to, Dean? That Christmas in Ypsilanti, after the pagan gods? The diner in Nevada, with the burgers, remember? The ones with the . . .”</p><p>“Jalepenos and cream cheese,” Dean agreed through a grin. “Raincheck on the burgers, Sammy, but that’s not how it works here, anymore. No more memories, no more heavens that ain’t got all the people in ‘em that make heaven worth having. Jack stopped by on his way out of town and fixed things up, the way they should have been.” Dean didn’t  say who helped him. Cas’ name had felt like jagged metal in his mouth, in his head, back on Earth, and he’d gotten out of the habit of saying it if he could help it. It didn’t feel that way anymore, but he still held it back. Not exactly a secret, but the beat of anticipation before telling one. </p><p>“The way they should have been,” Sam repeated, not quite a question. </p><p>“Peace, and the people you love,” Dean explained, easing around a turn. “No more boundaries, no more rules. Anything you want to do, anyone you want to see, it’s all here now, the way it should have been from the beginning.” </p><p>“Mom and Dad?”</p><p>“They’re around. Bobby, too, when you feel like drinking crap beer and getting insulted.”</p><p>Sam’s smile bloomed into a grin as Dean glanced over at him, and then softened again, looking speculative and cautiously hopeful. </p><p>“I wonder if that means . . .” He broke off as they rounded another turn and the woods around them gave way to an open field and the slope of a lawn. A turnoff on the road led down to a house, tucked into the trees, its windows full of warm light. Dean eased Baby over the gravel, rolling to a stop near a swingset with peeling paint, well-loved, and a bike dropped carelessly on the grass. </p><p>“I lived here,” Sam explained, although Dean had already known. He would have known this was where his brother’s life had been even without the strange omniscience of this place; it felt like home. “We bought it in the summer of ‘22, when we found out about the baby. We never meant it to be forever, but we put down roots, and then we stayed. ‘Til . .  ‘til the end.” </p><p>The screen door swung open on squeaky hinges, and a figure moved out into the light of the setting sun. She looked just the way Dean remembered her: sloe-eyed and smiling at Sam. Always, smiling at Sam.</p><p>“Eileen.” The name was little more than a breath. Dean looked over at him and saw a lifetime’s worth of love etched into the expression on Sam’s face, too much feeling and experience to belong to a face so young. “Cancer. Last winter. It was the hardest thing I ever did, being without her.” </p><p>“Then what the hell are you still doing in my car, man?” Dean asked, giving Sam’s shoulder a shove. “I want to hear everything, all of it, all the stuff you did and the people you knew and the things you loved. How The Mandalorian ended, how many versions of the iPhone they made, what stupid shit you taught your kid because I wasn’t around to tell him how wrong you were. But we got nothing but time for that, now. Go get your girl.” </p><p>Sam turned to look at him, and Dean felt like he did the first time he’d managed to put dinner on the table on his own, cooking over a hot plate and standing on a step stool so he could see over the shitty linoleum countertop in a motor court dive, putting a bowl of Chef Boyardee down in front of his little brother: Loved. Needed. Ten feet tall. Sam practically lunged across the bench seat now, wrapping his enormous arms around Dean’s body like a vine, hugging like he did when he was three years old and Dean had been the one to make sure he didn’t go hungry. </p><p>“I’ll see you soon,” Sam promised next to his ear. </p><p>“You’ll be sick of this mug before you know it, little brother,” Dean said easily. It was a promise too, even if it didn’t sound like one. </p><p>He watched Sam’s long legs lope over the grass and take the steps two at a time, watched him sweep Eileen into his arms and press his face into her hair. Then Dean smiled to himself, turned the radio up, and guided the Impala back onto the pavement. </p><p>The driving he’d done while he waited for Sam had felt gloriously aimless, just him, Baby, and the road, and no place to be. Now that he’d seen his brother, now that the final gear was in place and the clockwork of this existence was ticking away, that floating, unhurried feeling had given way to something else, something that felt concrete and oddly specific. There was a destination now, a place where the roads were all leading. </p><p>More time passed, or didn’t, and Dean let Baby carry him over rolling hills bathed gold in the sun, trusting her to know the way. When he got where he had always been going, he felt no surprise, only a sense of cool relief. The first breath after being underwater too long. </p><p>Dean got out of the car and leaned against it for a while, staring up at the straggling grass that sloped above the door of the bunker. He could hear animals skittering in the woods and the distant cry of a hawk, and for a while he sat listening to them, letting the sounds of this place soak into his skin. The door in front of him looked like a choice, one final chance to decide what came next. He pushed it open.</p><p>It was dim and quiet inside, like it always had been, and smelled like old books and dust. Dean breathed it in as he made his way slowly down the stairs. The metal creaked familiarly beneath his feet; the fluorescent lights buzzed above his head like a thousand bugs caught in a brilliant white net. It was as banged up and antiquated as it was in his memories, and he suddenly had to fight back a sting of gratitude at the back of his eyes, that Heaven had let him keep the scuffs and busted lightbulbs that had made this place the closest thing he’d ever had to a home, other than Sam and Baby. </p><p>There was the discolored stain on the map table, where Charlie had once spilled coffee and then hacked the Kansas DMV’s database to legitimize the stolen plates on the Impala by way of apology. There was the nick in the paneling of the doorframe, where Sam had stumbled blearily into it at 3am with about 25 books in his hands. There was the dent in the metal casing of some esoteric instrument panel, where Jack had dropped the ancient relic he’d been studying like a fascinated child, and there was the scratch on the back of the chair Dean had tipped over accidentally because he was laughing too hard at the look on Jack’s face to keep his balance. </p><p>And there was the table with their names carved into it, the way Dean remembered it at the very end, five sets of letters pressed into the wood like a promise. He let his fingers trip over one of them, tracing the rough outline, and suddenly couldn’t understand why he was still standing here when what he truly wanted, that last, final thing he got to choose, was so close he could nearly smell it, like ozone and green growing things. </p><p>He went to the kitchen, because of course that was where he would be. He couldn’t have been anywhere else. </p><p>He was sitting at the table bathed in amber light, looking disheveled and careworn. He had a book open in front of him that he was studying with his head tilted in that slightly inhuman way of his, like a bird, and his hand was wrapped around a cut crystal tumbler with a few fingers of Dean’s favorite whiskey in it. The bottle and an empty glass were sitting across from him, like an invitation. For just a moment, Dean stood in the doorway, paralyzed with the enormity of walking over and sitting down across from him, like he might have done every single day, if things had been different. </p><p>Eventually, his legs moved of their own accord, like obeying gravity, and he slid into a familiar chair, poured a few fingers into his own glass, and waited for him to look up. </p><p>When he finally did, his eyes were impossibly blue, almost the pale indigo that shone at the treeline for a few fleeting moments before sunrise, but not quite. Not quite that color or any other, anywhere. Dean knew. He had been looking for a very long time. Long enough, maybe, that he should have figured out some things before they were laid out for him in the bunker’s basement with Death pounding at the door. </p><p>“Hello, Dean.”</p><p>“Hey, Cas.” Dean’s voice sounded so normal to his own ears that he was almost shocked. Cas smiled at him, slow, and it felt like hearing his favorite song come on the jukebox unexpectedly in some dive bar in Bumfuck, Nowhere; joy, unexpected and brighter for it, bloomed in his chest. “I heard Jack busted you out.”</p><p>“Jack’s decision to undo Chuck’s wrongs didn’t end on Earth,” Cas explained, studying Dean like he was still unsure he was really there. “He came to the Empty, next, to cleanse it of the malevolence it was never supposed to have. He made it a place of peace, where the angels could rest together, where the demons could find an end to their torment. And when he found me there, he raised me up, and asked me to come with him to Heaven. He wanted my help, to make it what it should have been.”</p><p>Dean thought about the way Jack had closed his eyes and brought a whole world back to life, like it had never been gone at all. </p><p>“Your help,” Dean repeated flatly. Cas huffed out a breath like a laugh, and Dean felt it in his bones. </p><p>“Not my help, per se. Jack will never need anyone’s help, ever again. My counsel, might be more accurate. I think . . .” Cas’ face looked both fond and somehow humbled. “I think he missed me.”</p><p>“Of course he missed you, Cas,” Dean said softly. “You never stop missing your parents.” The look on Cas’ face was so keenly human that Dean felt it pierce him, right below the sternum. Rather than make him respond, Dean pressed on. “What’d you think of ‘im, with his battery charged?”</p><p>Cas’ smile shifted into something that was pure light, not directed at Dean at all, but he felt the warmth of it anyway. </p><p>“He was exactly the same,” Cas replied serenely. “ Seeing him that way . . . it was like seeing Michaelango’s angel, freed from the marble. Jack was always what he became, inside; seeing him as I’d always known he could be was . . . a gift.”</p><p>“He did you proud, Cas,” Dean said gently, afraid suddenly to shatter the moment, which felt abruptly fragile. “He made things right, when it seemed like there wasn’t a right way for things to go, anymore.”</p><p>“Yes,” Cas agreed, steady and certain. “He learned that from you.” </p><p>Dean had no idea what to say. He stared down into his glass of whiskey, thought about taking a drink, and found he didn’t want to. He’d never felt less like dulling his senses or forgetting.</p><p>“So . . .” The word came out hoarse, and Dean cleared his throat and tried again. “Where is the kid, anyway? Been looking forward to seeing him again.” A cloud came over Cas’ face, dimming his smile. Dean wished it away with everything he had. </p><p>“Jack’s gone, Dean,” Cas told him hesitantly. ”Once he set things right here, he moved on. Heaven is no longer a seat of power for a Creator; Chuck is powerless, and Jack is . . . something else entirely. It is not a headquarters for angelic forces, either. The time of the angels is over; Michael was the last of my brothers, and he is resting in the Empty with all the others. Heaven is just a place of peace now. A final home for human souls, when they lay down their burdens at last.” </p><p>Dean sat with that for a few minutes. He really had hoped to see Jack’s face again, to tell him how proud he was, how beautiful the world he’d saved had been, but he supposed Jack didn’t need him to. One of the perks of the job, he guessed. It would have been nice, though, for Dean, to say the words. It had been a while since he prayed, and Jack said they never had to again, but still. Might be nice. Maybe he’d give it a try. </p><p>Eventually, Dean’s brain caught up to the rest of what Cas had said, and he looked back up into his face, searching it. </p><p>“The time of the angels is over,” Dean mused slowly. Cas’ eyes darted away, and Dean sat up straighter in his chair. He waited a beat, and took a steadying breath. “What are you doing here, Cas?”</p><p>“When Jack had restored Heaven to the place of glory it should always have been, he told me I could come with him, if I wished, to whatever came next. But I . . . I asked him if I could stay.”</p><p>“Stay,” Dean repeated. “But not as an angel.” Cas smiled, still not meeting Dean’s gaze.</p><p>“Well, I was never very good at being one,” Cas reminded him wryly. </p><p>“So you’re, what? Human now?”</p><p>“Maybe not precisely that. But close enough to stay here.” Cas shrugged, looking unconcerned. “My wings for a soul. It was a fair trade, freely made.”</p><p>“Why, Cas? You could have gone anywhere, done anything. You could have been with Jack. Why would you give that up?” </p><p>“Because I was ready to rest, to lay down my arms.”</p><p>“You could have done that in the Empty, if it’s as peaceful now as you say, ” Dean scoffed. “You could have been with your brothers and sisters, you could have stayed <em> yourself </em> , after everyone in the universe had tried to take that from you. <em> Why </em>?” Cas finally dragged his eyes up to meet Dean’s, and Dean hoped whatever his face was doing didn’t look like pleading. “Please say it wasn’t for me. I don’t want to hear that you gave up anything else for me, Cas. I couldn’t bear it.” Cas’ smile was the kindest one Dean had ever seen. </p><p>“No, Dean, not for you. For <em> me </em>.” Dean felt a weight lift off his chest, so heavy he felt lighter than air in its wake. “The angels . . . they stopped being my family the day I realized I found a new one. I existed for millennia, but I only truly lived when I walked the Earth beside . . . all of you.” Dean thought he’d been about to say something else. “I wanted to spend eternity with the people I loved, the ones who taught me how.”</p><p>“That’s . . . that’s good, Cas,” Dean found a way to force out of his suddenly-constricted throat. “That’s how it’s ‘sposed to be.” </p><p>“Yes,” Cas agreed. He looked around at the scuffed walls, the ancient fridge, the industrial fixtures that had been half a decade out of date before they’d ever laid eyes on them. “And then I found myself here, in this place. And I knew, then, that I’d made the right choice. That I’d found my way home.”</p><p>Cas’s gaze settled back on Dean, and he looked older but just as knowing as he always had. Dean braced himself for whatever Cas said next, but he still wasn’t prepared for it.</p><p>“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”</p><p>Dean couldn’t feel pain here, so there was no pain, but there was a chasm in his chest so vast he could feel it like a wound, like a rending in his soul; it was the place where all the things he’d never said to Cas had been kept and sealed away, burst open now like a flower in the sun. </p><p>“Of course I came,” Dean replied fiercely, his fingers white-knuckled around his glass. “I was always going to come for you, Cas. In Purgatory, in Hell, on Earth. I always came for you, in the end. I would have come for you in the Empty, if I could have. I think I knew it was useless, but I was going to try, once I got Sammy past the worst of it, once I was sure he was going to be able to move on. I would have come for you anywhere, Cas. But I ran out of time.”</p><p>Cas’ expression wasn’t exactly sorrow, but there was something beautifully melancholy about it, regardless. He’d never looked exactly like that before. Dean tried to memorize it, so he could tuck the image of it away beneath his ribs, where it would be safe. </p><p>“I had hoped . . .” Cas began quietly. “I wanted you to have more time than you got, Dean. I wanted you to live a long life, making your own choices. I wanted you to be free.”</p><p>“I <em> was </em> .” It suddenly felt more important than anything that Cas understand. “From the minute we took down Chuck until the minute it ended, every choice I made - to save <em> those </em> people, to hunt <em> those </em>things - every minute I had was my own. So it wasn’t really about how many minutes I got, Cas. It was about having them at all. You should understand that better than anyone.” Cas looked more human than he ever had, awash in a feeling that overwhelmed his face, that left his eyes broken open like blown glass cooled too quickly. </p><p>“I do,” Cas forced out, looking down at the table instead of at Dean. “I do understand.” When Dean followed his gaze, he saw that, without any conscious decision on his part, his hand had moved across the expanse of the table to cover Cas’. Cas had gone inhumanly still, like he was afraid Dean would spook if he had reason to realize what he’d done. Carefully, deliberately, he maneuvered their hands until they were tangled inextricably together, and he felt Cas’ fingers curl around his own, gripping tight. </p><p>“Besides,” Dean continued with bravado that felt only a little false, “I’d made up my mind to keep moving forward, to make sure I didn’t fuck up the chance you gave me, but even though I didn’t do it that long, I could already tell . . . It didn’t feel so much like livin’. It felt like waiting.” </p><p>Cas’ fingers tightened again. Dean was pretty sure that if one of them fell over the side of a cliff the next moment, that grip would have held. </p><p>“Waiting for what?” It was barely more than breath. Cas was still staring down at their entwined hands, not meeting his eyes. Dean let his thumb skim over Cas’s knuckles and felt him shiver. </p><p>“For you, Cas.” It didn’t feel as monumental as Dean thought it probably should have, to finally say it out loud. It felt simple. “You did your waiting, so I figure it was only fair that I did some, too.” Cas made a helpless sort of noise in the back of his throat. </p><p>“You couldn’t have known I’d be here.” Cas’ protest sounded less like true denial than like he was trying to be <em> sure </em>. “You couldn’t have known Jack would come for me, that I’d choose to stay, that heaven would be changed enough for us to . . .” Cas finally raised his eyes to meet Dean’s own, and the cautious hope in them felt like a benediction. “You couldn’t have known.” </p><p>“I didn’t know,” Dean admitted, feeling his lips curl into an old smile, once he hadn’t had a chance to use here yet. “I believed. And I learned that from you.” </p><p>Cas made a noise like a sob, but not a sob, and he was smiling again. Dean unwrapped his other hand from the untouched glass of whiskey he still held and settled it over their grasping fingers. Cas carefully did the same, and Dean finally felt like he was touching enough of him. </p><p>“That whole thing about living a good life, and suffering and slogging, so you can catch a break in the afterlife - that’s bullshit, Cas. That was Chuck, yanking people’s strings, making them dance. That’s not what this is. I knew, deep down, that when Jack left that he was taking any chance I had to get you back with him, and I told myself it was ok. We didn’t save that world for us. We saved it for <em> them </em>. But the universe has never been able to keep us apart before. We broke every rule it ever put in front of us, to stay together. So it wasn’t about what I knew, or what we deserved - it was about the truth. And the truth is that, this . . .  it was the only real thing, the only thing that Chuck didn’t make himself. Maybe it was always too big for the life we were living, maybe it never could have been ours to keep, there, but if Chuck couldn’t break it, neither could the Empty. Neither could anyone, not even me. No matter how many times I fucked it up, it never broke.” Dean felt a little like he was breaking, now, like the glaciers he’d once seen on one of Sam’s stupid David Attenborough documentaries, a rime of ice inside him cracking and returning to the ocean. Cas’ hand on his pressed down, like he was holding him there. Holding him together. Dean cleared his throat.</p><p>“So yeah, Cas. I believed. I believed you would be here. If I had gone somewhere else, you would have been there, too. You were always going to be wherever I ended up, because if you weren’t, I hadn’t gotten there yet. There was never going to be an ending for me that didn’t have you in it.” Cas studied him for a long minute. </p><p>“‘And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there you may be also,’” he murmured, like a prayer. Dean could tell it was a quote but couldn’t place it, and then decided it didn’t matter. Cas’ voice around the words sounded  like the rumble of the Impala’s engine, and Dean never wanted to go another day without hearing it ever again. </p><p>Words had never been Dean’s strong suit; that had always been Sam’s thing, the reason they made such a good team. Dean was about doing, not saying, but even with all that, before, he wasn’t sure he would have found the courage to do what he did next. </p><p>Slowly, he pulled the hand that wasn’t tangled in Cas’ fingers out from under the grounding weight Cas was exerting on it. When he brought it up to Cas’ face to cup his jaw, Cas’ eyes drifted closed, like the simple touch was so overwhelming he had to shut the rest of the world out to let it wash over him. The stubble under Dean’s fingers felt exactly the way it did in his dreams. </p><p>Dean was only vaguely aware of leaning up out of his seat, closing the space across the table where they had laughed and grieved and sniped at each other, where they had shared a life, a real one, even if he hadn’t known what it was at the time, even if they hadn’t gotten to keep it. He could keep it now, he thought almost hysterically, the thought buzzing around his head like white-winged motes of light. He could keep it forever, now. </p><p>Cas’ mouth under his was exquisitely human, and his breath against Dean’s face felt like it was washing him clean, revealing something new beneath. Cas was still for a moment, and then surged forward, clenching a fist into Dean’s collar, holding him close. He tasted a little like whiskey, and a lot like a late evening in summer, like the moment the heat broke and the grass lit up with fireflies. Dean felt like that, now: like he was standing in an ocean of light, with his feet still on solid ground.</p><p>Eventually, Dean pulled back just enough for their lips to part, and couldn’t go any further even if he’d wanted to (he didn’t), because Cas’ hand was knotted in his jacket like a lifeline. </p><p>“I would have chosen you, then,” Dean whispered into the space between them. “I’m choosing you now.”</p><p>“I love you,” Cas breathed back. Dean closed his eyes against the intensity of the blinding-hot feeling in his chest, and felt his tingling mouth stretch into a grin. </p><p>“Yeah, Cas,” he agreed genially. “Ain’t that what I just said?”</p><p>Dean’s eyes were still closed, so he didn’t see Cas smile, but he felt it in the way skin and muscle move against his fingers, in the displaced air so close to his cheek, in the way it lit him up inside like a firework. </p><p>“Yes, Dean. It was.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And then it turned out S15E20 was just a fever dream, and Dean rescued Cas from the Empty, and they were in love but not in a romcom way because Dean would hate that, and they went to Sam and Eileen's wedding and danced in a hallway so no one would see, and Dean worked in a garage and Cas was the new Bobby, and sometimes they still went on hunts but mostly they grew vegetables and fought over what to watch on TV, and Miracle lived a very long and happy doggy life with them in the bunker and ran through the library after Sam and Eileen's kids, and their life was long and sometimes hard and sometimes boring but mostly so, so good. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. </p><p>Idk ya'll. I hope this helped a little. It helped me.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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